up in the sky, is it a bird, is it a plane, is it a thermo-nuculear device? no, it's... .- /)__(\ -------------------------------- /)__(\ -. | ( oO ) i don't care if you read this #3 ( Oo ) | `-- |..| ---------------------------------- |..| --' ~~ ~~ here we are... idciyrt #3... seems just like yesterday that i was releaseing the third going ape shit press in just as many days... man... those days were absolutely wonderful... in this issue, we have the adventures of the white power ranger and his side-kick, redneck boy. just as i promised in idciyrt #2. but, as usual,ðwe first have to have our complimentary poem dedicated to james hetfield, the one who hates poetry. .- /\__/\ ------------------------------------------------. | ( %o ) i shall never see a poem as beautiful as a tree | `-- |..| -------------------------------------------------'   ~~ ode to my unix shell oh unix shell, i love you much more than beer set prompt = "mogel is the one i phear> " all of the power that you hold for me is what i hail did someone write me? well then i'll type mail there are so many porno stories that i want to see so i'll saunter to nifty.andrew.cmu.edu via ftp illegal copies of softare, don't get caught with them your wories are gone in a flash with my friend rm are those hackers trying to crash my system again? oh boy, they just got their very own copy of satan if i don't want to type today, i can use the window of x is this file complete garbage? let's check it in hex as i've said before, i really love my unix shell the outdoors? sorry, those words don't ring a bell .- /\__/\ -----------------------------------------------. | ( @o ) when hemmoridal pain strikes up, i take heroin | `-- |..| ------------------------------------------------' ~~ [setting: a sleepy southern trailer park in georgia. a grown man and a young boy are swimming in an aboveground pool. a car lies on cinder blocks in the driveway while the yard is littered with children's toys. the man is looking up into the sky.] man: looks like rain. boy: chips. need more chips. [suddenly a freak accident accurs, a lightning bolt rips through the pool and through the ground striking several leaking waste cans. the cans were set there twenty years ago by the government to dispose of radioactive waste. the reaction between the waste and the bolt of electricity is insurmountable. the waste shoots directly up through the fissure in the earth into the pool and bathes the two in it's toxic glow.] man: i feel... strangely invigorated by this... this... wait, what was that word i said? in vinegar? was i talkin' again? i shore hate it when i do that. boy: beer. need more beer. man: we need more than just beer, we need costumes. and secret identities, i feel as strong as twenty monster trucks! i shall be called... THE WHITE POWER RANGER! boy: chips. need more chips. wpr: yes... yes... you also need a name... you shall be my faithful sidekick... REDNECK BOY! we shall stand up for all that is right. when we see injustice being done, we shall be there, when we see a mexican crossing our sacred borders, we shall be there. when we see some lousy blackie taking a white man's job, we shall be there. we shall stand for truth, justice, and the inbred way. [with that, they went down to the local liquor store to stock up on chips and beer. ready to spread their twisted views on politics, they are suddenly distracted by a strange alien force.] wpr: ... so i tell her that either she gets me a beer from the fridge, or i'm going to have to beat her, again. so she threatens to call the cops on me... hey! would you look at the jugs on her, what i wouldn't do to that... rnb: beer. need more beer. clerk: doesn't he say anything else? wpr: well, he hasn't been quite normal since the 'accident'. clerk: oh. [enter a man wearing ski-mask holding a loaded .22 rifle] man: if any one of you honkey's move, i'm gonna fill your chest full of lead. now fill up the bag with your cash, white bread. oh, nice costume whitey. wpr: foolish negro! not realize who i am? i am: [tinny sounding music by garth brooks] wpr: THE WHITE POWER RANGER! man: dude, i don't care if you're the fucking duke of earl. empty your pockets before i put a cap in yo' ass, fool. wpr: alright, i gave you your chance. now you will have to taste the wrath of my CROWBAR OF JUSTICE! taste the pain of a thousand episodes of mork and mindy! rnb: beer. we need more beer. [the white power ranger pulls out a glowing crowbar from his sack. he swings it at blinding speed at the head of the assailant turned victim. the man attempts to duck but the crowbar slams into his head, slightly denting the skull] man: oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit... [enter two other masked men carrying shotguns] man2: leroy! fuck man, what the hell happened to you. man3: dude, check out the funky white bread. thinks he's superman. man1: don't mess with him... he's the one who fucked up my head man. let's just the the hell out of here. move, move, MOVE! [as they make their getaway, the white power ranger sticks his head out of the door] wpm: y'all come back now, y'hear? [the white power ranger and redneck boy get into the IncestMobile, a converted chevy pickup with special minority group finding equipment. wpm checks the MinorityFinder camera for anyone who may be close by. it catches a glance on some skater punk kids on their way home from an offspring concert] rnb: beer. need more beer. wpm: there's some foul evildoers, let's show them what a little hate misunderstanding can do. [with that, wpm engages the refried beans jet fuel and takes off at an alarming rate. they catch up with the punks easily, then get out of the pickup] wpm: halt, ye of little genetic makeup. skater1: what's your beef, bro? skater2: don't mess with us. we'll school you man. skater3: jim's a blade-man, man. he'll cut you, man! s1: yeah dude, jim's more punk than you. s2 (whispered): shut up dudes, my piece is at home. mom took it away. s1: bummer. listen, we don't want any trouble, we're just on our way home for dinner. just let us through. wpm: don't try to talk your way out of this one, i know about your type, i watch inside edition. you and your drugs and rock'n'roll. if you ask me, i'm about to do the world a favor, you polecat. [the white power ranger pulls out another of his weapons of ignorance, a glowing baseball bat] wpm: say hello to mr. wilson, shithead. feel the sting of a thousand mighty budweisers! he-yah! [wpm starts to swing his baseball bat towards the punks, gets one of them down, then a police car pulls up] cop: well shit-on-me... if it isn't the white power ranger, what do i owe this honor upon, sir? wpm: these bastard hippies were skating up the street, wearing horrible clothing, probably coming from a rock concert and on some sort of drugs. cop: izzatso? looks to me like i'm gonna have to do some regulatin' here. c'mere boy, let me show you what the law thinks about your type. s1: shit... [the officer pulls out his billy club and starts to whack away at the helpless skater punks. the next day the paper headlines with: THE WHITE POWER RANGER SAVES TRAILER PARK FROM CERTAIN DOOM. in the insuing months, tales of wpm's crusade spreads far and wide throughout the county. the news falls upon the ears of the north east coast's number one superhero, politically correct man. he is agast at the atrocity.] politically correct man: great scott! how can someone come up with such a dastardly plan? these are all potential voters... i feel as if i should do something to help them... [a voice sounds from the other room] voice: just make sure that you don't damage your image, sir... pcm: but of couse, thank you democratic party boy; i don't know where i'd be without you. democratic party boy: you'd still be in arkansas kissing ass... pcm: yes yes yes, but that's not important now. there _has_ to be a way i can use this to my advantage and win votes for 1996. hmmm... wait, i know! and it's been done before... come into the planning room al... errr... i mean democratic party boy... dpb: sure... lemme just wipe first... (to someone else) thank you hillary. hillary: any time, big boy. .- /\__/\ -------------------. | ( Oo ) tO bE k0NTiNUeD@#! | `-- |..| --------------------' ~~ what plan does politically correct man have in store for the white power ranger?! does this mean that the story's finally developing a plot, going against pip's original plan? why can't democratic party boy wipe his own ass? and why was hillary doing the dirty work? these and other questions to be answered in the second part of our story, in: THE WHITE POWER RANGER RIDES OFF or MOMMY, HOW MUCH IS THAT SHOTGUN IN THE WINDOW, THE ONE WITH THE WAGGILY CLIP? .- /\__/\ -----------------------. | ( oO ) chips, need more chips | `-- |..| ------------------------' ~~ .- /\__/\ -------------------------------------------- /\__/\ -. | ( #o ) information on i don't care if you read this ( o# ) | `-- |..| ---------------------------------------------- |..| --' ~~ ~~ idciyrt number 3 was written by pip the angry youth he's just this guy, you know? now now NOW! you can get your very own copy of idciyrt along with the other i don't care lines... i don't care if this phunkshunz, our programming division (pip's learning c, kurdt does pascal, and ilsundal is heading up the batch file division.)... i don't care if you like this, our art division (pip, hal08, and ilsundal)... i don't care if you listen to this, our music division (ilsundal)... if you want to apply for a position here, or want to submit an article... write to pip@cybercom.com... and our zine... i don't care if you read this... we also have an internet mailing list... mail pip@cybercom.com, krad@nj5.injersey.com, or cyclone@nj5.injersey.com to get information on our mailing list for the magazine... we shall soon enough have a spot on someone's ftp site...